A far more complicated matter
by Elizabeth Martin
Summary: Story two in my explanation series. Erik explains exactly what happened between the night in the cemetary and the opening of "Don Juan Triumphant".
1. A note from Erik

So you have come back to learn more, I see. It makes me glad to know that there are so many destined to seek the truth, not speculate and listen to rumor. As in my previous memoir, this story is meant more for those of you who do not understand. Hopefully you are less in number now, though I do hope there will always be those of you out there who have things yet to understand. Mystery and misunderstanding help move ones life along, and add much excitement to the everyday routine. Those of you who know me know how I feel about routine. Please let my words fill you as my music has.  
  
Erik 


	2. Anger in Perros

A/n: This is the second story in my "fill in" series, I guess you could call it. My first was a passage of swiftly moving time, chronicling what happened between the first and second acts of the musical. Please enjoy and review!  
  
"Don't go!" I shouted as Christine and the vicomte ran away, disappearing into the darkness of the cemetery. From my perch above Mr. Daae's mausoleum, I saw Christine trip over a tombstone, and the Vicomte hurriedly grab her and pull her back up.  
  
"SO BE IT! NOW LET IT BE WAR UPON YOU BOTH!" They didn't stop running. I jumped off the mausoleum and began to go after them, knowing I could catch them and murder the boy in no time, but decided not to. I was too tired- lately I had always been too tired. I now knew why I had never let myself fall in love before. It was too taxing on my mind.  
  
I turned to look at the intricate mausoleum erected in M. Daae's honor. For some reason, I had begun to feel a bit embarrassed about standing on top of his grave and firing upon his daughter's lover. I had also begun to feel a sort of connection with this man, another musically gifted man in Christine's life. It had really been a small wonder Christine had hoped me to be a father figure, and how horribly shattered she had been when she had discovered I was not another father for her-only a pathetic, disfigured man who loved her in quite a different way.  
  
"No answer for her tonight, Monsieur?" I asked, glancing at the door. The tomb was deathly silent as was appropriate. Everything else in the cemetery was silent also. I began to feel uncomfortable in this sacred place, like a trespasser. I grabbed my hat from where it had fallen behind a bush. I was about to leave when I turned back to look at the mausoleum one more time.  
  
"Good-bye Monsieur. I am deeply sorry." I didn't know what about, but something inside me told me an apology was necessary to this good old man, who had been the only man in Christine's life before I even knew of her existence. I hoped that in some way I had helped Christine fulfill some of her father's dreams for her. Feeling content with myself, I walked out of the cemetery and mounted the black horse I had borrowed from the opera's stables. It was a long trip back, but it was a strong horse. We should get to the opera just as the sun had begun to rise. 


	3. The managers make a decision

Sorry....I forgot the disclaimer-blah blah not mine blah blah Gaston Leroux blah blah.  
  
Noon the following day found me just outside the manager's office, listening to a confidential conversation between the managers. The Vicomte was not present. I assumed he was either still absent or he did not feel like showing his face when I was around. I felt sure that the former was true, however, as Christine was not at the Opera this morning either.  
  
"I swear Andre, it's bad enough that Miss Daae has to go unexplainably missing for the second time this year. On top of that, we have to perform this 'Don Juan'. Is it even very good?" Firmin asked from behind his desk.  
  
"Musically or morally?" Andre replied, pacing around the room and flipping through the libretto.  
  
"Whichever will bring in the money," Firmin replied in his usual manner.  
  
"Well, musically it's better than anything I've ever seen. Though I don't want to admit it, this Opera Ghost is a musical genius." I smiled to myself.  
  
"Good enough to bring in money?" Firmin asked, eyeing the libretto curiously.  
  
"Oh yes...if we were just playing the music. The moral background of the story is somewhat lax, and the entire thing may be too intense for some of the ladies that frequent the Opera."  
  
"Damn!" Firmin suddenly yelled, jumping out of his chair and racing over to Andre. "The press has discovered our dilemma!" And indeed, in large black print read the words "Opera Populaire puts on Ghost's new Opera". I had written the press myself, anonymously of course. If Andre and Firmin were fools not to realize the publicity opportunities it was not my fault, but this wasn't any opera. It was my life's work, and people were going to come whether they came of their own free will or not.  
  
"Wait," Andre said, looking at Firmin. "That means that now even the people of Paris that weren't at the Masquerade know about the opera, and know that it was written by our friend O.G."  
  
"Good Lord it's brilliant. The house will be so jammed we'll have to have to turn people down!" Firmin exclaimed, settling slowly back down into his chair.  
  
"What about Box 5? Are we going to sell it?" Andre asked, glancing warily around.  
  
"No!" I said, and watched their faces change as my voice echoed around the room.  
"Of course not Andre, what were you thinking?" Firmin asked. I laughed quietly to myself and turned to leave.  
  
"But what of Miss Daae?" Andre asked. "She is still missing. There are no notes, letters, or any form of communication. She must return soon or we will not be able to have this production ready!"  
  
"I daresay she and the young Vicomte are gone together...he hasn't been heard from in just as long. This will complicate things if we are not able to satisfy our phantom's request."  
  
"We shall not start worrying for another two days at least. If she has not returned, we shall hire people to find her. If all else fails, Carlotta will simply have to go on in her place. This production is too big and too publicized to not be performed," Andre replied, sitting behind his desk. I had turned back to listen, and now decided there was no other information I could possibly learn from the manager's. At least they had enough sense to realize a classic when they saw it. I would go down to my house and wait for Christine's arrival. I had no doubt it would be very soon that the young prima donna would walk through those large opera doors. 


	4. Escape is not a possibility

Was I surprised when Christine returned later that afternoon? Of course not. But it did surprise me that upon entering the Opera she marched straight to the manager's office told them she was quitting, and that it was not possible for her to perform in my opera.  
  
Upon hearing this, I rushed to the passageway behind her mirror. As some of you may recall (A/N: from "A Passage of Swiftly Moving Time), it was welded shut. I often used this spot as an observatory of sorts. When Christine rushed in she was so upset she didn't even bother to keep her voice down in case I was listening.  
  
"Dress, shoes, brush, old letters," she said, throwing each one into a small suitcase. "Locket, stockings...what's this?" she said curiously eyeing a small necklace on her vanity table. It was small, and it shone in the light from the lamps. She picked it up, and turned it over in her hands. She peered over to the mirror, and I held my breath praying she wouldn't notice I was there. She didn't.  
  
"It's lovely Erik," she said softly. "But I still cannot stay. You do not understand the affect of the things you said to me at Perros. I just cannot stay here a moment longer, and there is absolutely no reason for me to stay here just to perform in your Opera. I shan't do it. It shall only distress me." It was as if she were talking to herself, convincing herself to go. I certainly hadn't given her the necklace. Who had, I wondered?  
  
"Here you are," said a voice as the door opened. Christine shoved her small bag behind her and sat on it. "Oh, I see you got the necklace Mother sent for you."  
  
"Your mother sent this for me?" Christine asked Meg, as the girl slipped into the room.  
  
"Of course. It's an old Opera good luck tradition. Mother says you can wear it when you star in the new opera."  
  
"You mean 'Don Juan'?" Christine asked, standing up.  
  
"Of course," Meg said, eyeing her friend curiously. "What other new operas are there?"  
  
"Tell your mother thank you for the necklace, but I cannot possibly accept it since I am not going to be in the new opera," Christine replied, handing Meg the necklace. Meg shook her head, then looked over at Christine's packed bag.  
  
"Mother told me you would say that. You just can't quit this opera Christine. Have you seen the newspaper? All of Paris knows about 'Don Juan Triumphant', and they also all know that you are supposed to sing the lead. It just isn't possible." Christine realized the truth in Meg's statement, and took it almost as a physical blow. She just sank down into a chair and nodded her head. Meg picked up Christine's bag and began putting things back where they belonged. I felt triumph surge through me as Christine fastened the necklace from Madame Giry around her neck. She would suffer...and I would have revenge for the pain inflicted upon me. 


	5. Reality and unacceptence

Rehearsals began the next day. I, of course was there to supervise. I could see Christine's nerves were on end, and she kept looking around as if I were going to jump out of the shadows and slice her throat open at any second. This action never occurred to me, as I need not tell you. I never use knives. Blood is unsanitary, and a Punjab lasso is much more fun.  
  
Not that thoughts of death and killing were foremost in my mind that day. I'll admit that my thoughts were unpleasant, centering on seeing Christine squirm as she went over her lines. She was not enjoying her part, her lines, her music, or any of it. And when it came time to design costumes...well, a note to the costume mistress and she would not enjoy her costume either. With all this revenge, I should have been reveling in the complete misery I was throwing Christine into. But I was not happy. Something inside me wept at the sight of Christine's frown. She had not smiled for nearly a week when the Vicomte made his grand return to the opera.  
  
"I was hoping my silence would convey to you a message, gentlemen," he said to the managers in their office. " I do not wish for this production to proceed."  
  
"I'm afraid you simply don't understand, Sir," Andre replied from behind his desk. "It would be impossible for us not to perform this opera. We have never sold out this quickly, and we would never be able to face Paris again if we had to disappoint all those people."  
  
"Quite impossible," Firmin agreed, looking quite bored in a large chair in the corner. "It would be quite a scandal if we had, albeit unknowingly, all this publicity and we laughed it off as though we had never intended to perform it in the first place."  
  
"Then remove Christine from the leading role," the Vicomte said coldly. "Or I shall withdraw my patronage." The words did not have the effect he wished. This was evident on his face when Firmin replied.  
  
"Though that would be an awful loss, I cannot say a void would be left with us very long. With all the excitement this 'Don Juan' is generating, people will be banging down this door with various monetary offerings. Plus," he added vindictively, "We would not have to worry about Miss Daae being distracted or going missing. Now whether you choose to patronize our establishment or not, we have much preparing to do, and would appreciate it if we could be left alone." The boy had nothing to say to this not so subtle dismissal, and left the room with a slam of the door. I felt sure he would continue to come to the Opera, if to do nothing but watch his precious Christine. My precious Christine. At the moment I controlled almost all of her, except her heart which I had never owned. I had always resented this fact, and tried as hard as I could to win it from her, never once succeeding. Even knowing I had the rest of her in my control did not lessen the pain of realizing I could never possess the one thing I truly wanted, and yearned for with a desire that burned nearly as hot as the very fires of the underworld itself. I had always had a passionate soul, but this was a passion that nearly crippled me. Christine did not belong to me, had never belonged to me, and would never belong to me, unless I changed my strategy. I would have to do a little revising of my opera. Little changes here and there would not upset the management. I practically had them eating out of the palm of my hand. I knew it, and they knew it, but there was nothing they could do about it, except following my commands.  
  
Thoughts of conquering and defeating, and new musical scores writing themselves flew through my brain. My fingers were trembling at the thought of a new challenge. Before leaving, I looked back on the managers. They were doing nothing of interest, and I believe Firmin had fallen asleep. Either his 'work' was fictional or it was less important than he had made it sound. Either way, it was none of my concern, and I hurried to the House Beyond the Lake to complete my business. "Don Juan Triumphant" would be triumphant indeed. 


End file.
